by Lucy Jago
No one spoke until they had climbed the hill.
In the patchy moonlight that seeped through scudding clouds she could see the building was even more dilapidated than she remembered. The roof was gone and only bare beams stuck into the sky, like the ribs of a dead sheep. The chapel stood in a clearing and the nearest trees were at least ten long strides away.
Bartram Paget opened the door and waved the guards and Cess through. Inside it was dark and bare save for a few broken sticks that might once have been stools. Most of the stone columns that once held up the roof were still standing, although the one nearest them had broken off low down and was lying in pieces on the floor. William was not there.
“Tie her feet,” Paget ordered a guard as he dropped his leather roll on a fallen piece of masonry and lit his torch and those the guards held. He placed them in the rusty wall brackets, taking the last with him as he climbed the crumbling stone steps that would once have led to a gallery. There he waved the torch six times across a gap in the wall, as if signaling someone, and descended.
“Stand guard,” said Paget, pointing the men toward the door. “Two outside, one in.” He pushed Cess sharply so that she toppled over backward onto the floor. Fear spread through her body. Her legs were numb with it, so was her head. However rough, the men-at-arms were less to be feared than Bartram Paget.
Paget shoved his torch into a bracket on the nearest column and opened the leather roll, which contained a number of metal instruments in pockets. One by one he took them out, making sure Cess had a good view of their sharp, twisted, spoonlike, or pinching forms.
“We know about you, Cecily Perryn,” said Paget in his nasal, almost hissing voice. “If you had not made such a spectacle of yourself outside the church, then maybe you would have escaped us. A malapert girl like you gets what she deserves, eh?”
Cess felt panic rising in her throat. She tried to think of Jasper and Edith to calm herself.
We are here, Cecily, do not fear. Edith’s voice came clear and strong, and the corner of Cess’s mouth flickered.
“Amused by my knives?” said Paget viciously, as he stabbed one at Cess, missing her eye by a fraction. Cess cowered back. Paget proceeded to use the blade to clean under his nails, flicking the dirt he scraped away in her direction.
Cess was worried that William had not yet been brought to the chapel. Her intuition told her he was alive, but maybe it was wrong. Perhaps he was already dead and she had made a terrible mistake allowing herself to be caught. Was Paget summoning William or Drax when he waved the torch? If Drax arrived first, there would be one more to overpower. Their plan was beginning to look very flawed.
“You will tell us who else you have told about the priory cellars,” said Paget, pulling out a long, sharp skewer. He grabbed her hand and shoved the instrument under her middle fingernail. She cried out in agony as the sharp point drilled into the tender flesh. Before she could speak, a voice called from outside the chapel and the door was opened by a guard. Paget pulled out the skewer.
“The boy’s here,” said the guard. Cess’s heart leaped in her chest, despite feeling faint with the pain in her throbbing finger. She was happy to see William, whatever the circumstances. Through the door came the blond man she knew to be Father Garret, with William over his shoulder. He dropped him onto the chapel floor, and Cess saw that her friend was still very poorly. His skin was blistered and weeping, although perhaps less bloated. He was so painfully thin she wondered how they would ever get him out of the chapel in such a weakened state.
“Tie him to her,” ordered Paget to the monk, who looked surprised to be ordered about but did as he was told. He did not look at Cess, but was careful to step on her, butt her with his large feet, and chafe her with the ropes as he tied William to her.
“You may leave us,” said Paget. The monk, annoyed at being spoken to so curtly, bowed and left without a word. However, once outside, he stood by the door and took a small clay pipe from his jerkin. To Cess’s alarm, he leaned against the doorway smoking, talking occasionally to the guard. Until he was gone, Jasper and Edith could not start their rescue plan. The monk looked immensely strong and would make the odds against them too great.
Cess craned her neck around to look at William, willing him to look back at her. His head was slumped on his chest. He did not move. Being manhandled up the hill had exhausted him.
“William,” she whispered. She glanced at Paget, but he sat still, observing them.
William stirred. His head lolled around as if he were drunk.
“William,” she said, louder this time.
“If you shout, I shall run you through,” Paget said calmly, indicating his sword. “But feel free to rouse him—we need him awake if he is to watch you die.”
Cess tried to keep her panic at bay. She hoped Jasper and Edith could see that Father Garret had not gone.
“Edith, the blond man is still here. Do not attack,” she thought as hard as she could, hoping Edith would sense her fear at least.
“William,” she said again, as loud as she dared. William lifted his head. It took a long while for him to focus. Aflicker of recognition crossed his face.
“Cess…why are you here? They’ve got you too?” he rasped.
Paget sighed with irritation and strode to the door. “This is not time to indulge in smoking and idle chatter,” he said coldly. The monk towered over Paget’s birdlike frame, and for a moment Cess thought he might pick the page up and shake him. Reluctantly, Father Garret knocked the ash from the bowl of the pipe so that it fell on to Paget’s fine boots, and walked off.
Now, thought Cess. Paget moved inside and shut the chapel door, perching back on the broken column. Cess heard a noise. A quiet thud, ten or fifteen paces behind her. At last, she thought. Two black shapes, like bats, darted in opposite directions across the ruined chapel. Paget looked up and, taking up the torch, peered first in the direction of the noise and then at Cess. Holding William in her arms, she pushed herself sideways onto the floor.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing.
Suddenly a thin whistling noise filled the air, and Paget leaped back, clawing at his throat. A tiny arrow had pierced the skin below his ear. There was almost no blood, but the page’s eyes were already rolling up so that the whites showed. He slumped to his knees and toppled sideways.
“Hey!” shouted the guard. As he ran toward Paget, Cess saw that the arrow intended to fell him had failed to fully pierce his jerkin and was hanging limply, stuck in the leather.
“What did you do to him?” the guard yelled at Cess, pulling her and William to their feet. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a black-cloaked shape close in behind the guard. The outside door opened and one of the guards looked in.
“Watch out!” the man-at-arms shouted from the door. Jasper scraped a poisoned arrow across the back of the guard’s neck but could not leap back in time. The guard swiped at him and Jasper flew through the air and landed heavily on his back. The guard grabbed Cess and William again, squeezing so hard they could hardly breathe. Cess kicked out at him, but he appeared not to notice. He was staring oddly, his eyes rolling. He began screaming and pushed them away as if they had turned into evil spirits.
The hallucinatory effect of the deadly nightshade was working.
An athame flashed in the torchlight, and Cess and William were freed by Edith.
“Go!” she said. Her cloaked form was racing toward Jasper’s prone body. The second guard was edging forward, pike lowered to run him through. The third was racing straight at Cess. She grabbed William and ran with him toward the back of the dark church. The guard followed them until he came to the trapdoor through which Edith and Jasper had come. He looked puzzled for a moment, then grunted in understanding. He slammed it shut and heaved a huge piece of fallen masonry over it. Cess watched in horror as their escape route was blocked.
Jasper had got to his feet and was watching the second guard, who was waiting for the right moment
to strike, wary of the sharpened sticks Jasper was clutching. Suddenly he jabbed forward with his pike. However, it was not Jasper he aimed at but Edith, as she arrived at his side. She jumped back gracefully, grabbing the pike as it came toward her chest and falling to her knees with a grunt, still clasping the weapon as tight as she could so that the guard could not retreat. In that split second, Jasper darted forward and slammed his sharpened stick into the man’s upper arm. The guard cried out and dropped to his knees seconds later. The third guard, who had left Cess and William and was running to help his friend, stopped in his tracks. Jasper pulled out another stick and waved it about to keep the guard at bay. He dropped his pike with a tremendous clatter and drew a heavy sword from his scabbard.
Cess left William at the back of the church and ran closer to Edith, who was lying between her and the guard. She was frightened by how still Edith was. She edged closer, watching the guard who was intent on Jasper and his poisoned stick. The guard moved to his left, around a column, creating more distance between himself and Edith so that Cess was able to run to her friend.
“I am hurt,” groaned Edith, white as starched linen. “Leave me, I cannot move.”
“No,” said Cess, shaken.
“Get out of here now!” shouted Jasper to her. But Cess did not go. Instead, catching sight of Edith’s quiver of arrows, she carefully pulled one out. She could not see the third guard; he was behind the column, slowly forcing Jasper farther back. Cess ran silently to the column and waited. She would edge around it and come upon the guard from behind. Just then, however, the man let out a great yell and charged Jasper, raising his sword. Cess threw herself at his back and stabbed the arrow into it. The guard cried out in surprise and pain. He swung round to cut Cess down, but Jasper leaped forward and stabbed him again with a stick, this time into his right arm. The guard dropped his sword, staggered a few paces, and then fell, twitching and shouting.
Cess rushed back to Edith and, with Jasper’s help, pulled the witch to her feet. They opened her cloak and saw a bloodstain seeping slowly from a hole in the middle of her chest.
“It’s not bleeding much,” Cess said to Edith as reassuringly as she could. “You will be all right.” All color had drained from Edith’s face. Her head hung limply, and her breathing was shallow and noisy. The pike may not have pierced deeply, for it had hit Edith’s breastbone, but the force of the blow had done much damage.
“We need to get into the tunnel,” said Jasper.
“The trapdoor is covered; it will take too long for us to shift the weight on it,” said Cess. “We’ll have to go into the forest.” She ran to fetch William, who leaned heavily on her.
They struggled to the door, but suddenly Cess’s heart was gripped with fear. A great white bird landed on the wall above her head.
“Drax…” she whispered. Jasper looked up and saw the hawk. William was uncomprehending, and Cess realized that of course he had not seen Drax since the humiliating episode outside the church. “The man responsible for all this,” she gabbled, staring around wildly. Edith suddenly gripped Cess’s arm, unable to speak but saying all she needed through her bony, firm fingers. Cess took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Standing still, she closed her eyes and looked steadily and deeply inward, withdrawing from everything around her: the blood, the exhaustion, her fear. Her breathing became deep and steady. In the silence she saw clearly that Drax was in the forest and that there was a key around her neck that she had forgotten in her panic.
“He’s nearby but not on the summit,” she whispered, feeling goose pimples on her skin. “We must head to Joliffe’s and hide there, now.”
“Not the hideout?” questioned Jasper, bowing under Edith’s weight.
“No,” said Cess shortly. Joliffe was unlikely to welcome her cramming his priest hole with fugitives and witches, but she did not think he would refuse her. With luck, he would be out, drinking.
Cess pulled William through the chapel door; Jasper followed with Edith’s arm over his shoulder. Cess headed northwest, sensing that Drax would arrive up the cart track from the south. She heard a whistle and saw the bird fly down behind the chapel wall.
He was between them and the hideout, and so her intuition to go to Joliffe’s had been correct.
A slight breeze, heralding dawn, moved the trees and made her even more nervous, for she could not hear if anyone was approaching. It felt like the longest walk of her life. Edith’s breathing was becoming more labored, and blood was beginning to seep through the cloak. William, too, was painfully slow, but unlike Edith, who was silent, he was whispering without stop.
“I came to find you after the fireworks…The man hit me so hard, and when I woke, there were other boys who were dying and I don’t know why I didn’t, but maybe something Edith did with the pox and…”
“William, we will talk of everything later,” said Cess, unsettled by the usually quiet boy’s need to talk, and concentrating hard on the noises in the woods. Drax Mortain would be able to move much faster than they could. It was with intense relief that she saw the stile that led to the lane and Joliffe’s track. It took so long to get Edith over that Cess was sure they would be caught. She hurried them along the lane to the farm, unlocked the door, and let them in. Before shutting the door, she scattered some of the decoy herbs to throw any dogs that might be sent after them off their trail. Then she locked the door and felt her way in the darkness to the far chamber, where she lifted the planks to the priest hole.
“No!” gasped William, shying away when he realized what Cess wanted him to do. “Not in there. No more cellars.”
“William, we have no choice. Get in quickly!” she ordered. He scowled but allowed himself to be helped down.
Cess knelt beside Edith. “Edith.” Her friend’s eyes fluttered.
With a great effort, she managed to open them. “Cecily,” Edith whispered, “my pentacle…” She could not finish the sentence. Cess found the five-pointed star in Edith’s purse and pressed it into her hand. Edith smiled weakly and tried to speak some more. Cess sensed that her friend was fading and might soon pass into spirit.
“Once we are hidden I can help you.…” But she could see there was nothing she could do for Edith. Her lips and fingertips were turning blue with the difficulty of breathing. She was mumbling, and Cess bent forward to hear.
“I must tell you something”—Edith coughed, and Cess heard a terrible rattling in her chest—“about your father.…”
C H A P T E R 20
Drax kicked the men-at-arms and shook his page. One guard was already dead, one was coming round, and the third looked as if he might also survive. Paget was lucky the arrow had struck him only a glancing blow, or he, a slight man, would be dead too. The page’s pulse was irregular, and his pupils hugely dilated, when Drax pulled up his lids. He would be no use for several hours. Drax swore and stood up. He walked over to the guard who was slowly coming round, holding his head and groaning loudly. Drax manhandled him into a sitting position and slapped him a few times on the cheeks. The guard slowly opened his eyes.
“Can you hear me?” asked Drax loudly. Slowly the man managed to nod.
“My horse is tethered halfway down the track. Take her back to the great house, do you understand?” Again the man slowly nodded. He tried getting to his feet but kept falling over. Drax eventually hauled him up and held him against a wall until he was steady. “What do you have to do?” he shouted.
“Horse…house.”
“Good.” Drax pulled the man out of the chapel door and set him going on the track down the hill. The man-at-arms looked as if he were sleepwalking or exceedingly drunk.
Drax stood silently on the summit of the mountain and closed his eyes. He let his mind wander in the way his mother had taught him, although he did not know where she had learned it. He pictured the girl, Cecily Perryn, as he had last seen her, standing outside the church looking up at him defiantly. He concentrated on the image until it was very clear, down to the s
trand of brown hair escaping from her cap. Drax opened his eyes and began to walk. At first he turned toward the track, but stopped. He turned around completely and walked northwestward into the forest. The going was rough, but he felt sure she and the crippled boy, and whoever had helped them escape, had come this way. They had to be stopped before things got out of hand.
The hill sloped steeply downward. It was slippery and overgrown, but after a while he found the trees thinning and could see where he was. Below him, in darkness, was Joliffe’s farm. Drax smiled grimly, unsurprised.
“Joliffe!” he shouted. He walked around the outside of the house but could see nothing through the shutters. The doors were sturdy and locked, but next to the kitchen entrance was a narrow window. He plucked a stick from the wood pile and bashed at the wooden shutters until the catch that held them broke and he could pull himself through.
From the cramped entrance he walked into the dark hall. As he opened the window shutters, a damp, gusty breeze blew into the stale-smelling room. In the glimmer of moonlight, he spied a tinderbox on the shelf over the buffet, and he lit a stub of tallow candle, which was all he could find. Other than the spitting and smoking of the wick, the house was still. The ashes in the grate were cold. The hall was so sparsely furnished he could see at a glance that no one could be hiding there. On the far side of the entrance was the kitchen, which smelled strongly of sour milk. Some stale bread and rancid butter lay half eaten on the table, and a rat scuttled away as Drax entered. The buttery smelled so strongly Drax could do no more than poke his head inside it, and the scullery was piled high with unwashed bowls. The brewery was the only room that showed some order and was clearly in regular use. The embers in the brewing fire had been carefully raked and covered and were still alight. He dipped a finger into the large ceramic bowl over the fire. Strong beer.
